


Warmth

by confusedkayt



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Kitchens, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Toothache levels of fluff, hannibal spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedkayt/pseuds/confusedkayt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just shameless, shameless fluff, inspired by the leaked dvd extras.</p><p>Kisses, tears, and soft foods in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

It happens, of course, in the kitchen. He’s putting the iced tea back in the fridge, and snooping on whatever had warranted the almighty racket Hannibal had been making in here. There’s beef, or something like it, swimming in a marinade and pounded flat, tenderized to within an inch of its life in a way that Will knows Hannibal must think is a criminal waste. He pokes his tongue against his half-healed cheek, gentle, but it still stings. His mouth waters anyway at the thought of real meat - of anything, really, other than soft eggs, no matter how cleverly prepared. Easy to chew and easy to digest, no matter where you’ve got a hole in you. Hannibal tolerates a lot, these days, in the name of their recovery.

The man himself is standing at the sink doing dishes, clear light from the kitchen window falling on his face. He’s smiling, beaming almost, at something or other out in the yard.

Will’s feet carry him over to the sink. Hannibal hears him coming and rinses off his hands, turns toward Will. His face is open, his eyes warm, even if his smile has shrunk to its usual subtle size. He snatches a dishtowel and dries his hands, neat and efficient, and cocks his head, inviting Will to speak.

Will’s tongue is too heavy in his mouth, but the rest of him knows what to do. He steps and steps again until he’s crowded Hannibal against the counter and loops arms around him, presses the good side of his face against Hannibal’s. It’s warm, inside him and in the sunbeam, warmer still when Hannibal’s arms creep slowly up until they rest gently on his good shoulder, the base of his neck. Will squeezes, just a bit, but Hannibal doesn't take the hint. It’s good, still, the thump-thump-thump of Hannibal’s heart against him as bright as the weather. “This is nice,” he says, finally. Hannibal doesn’t reply, at least not verbally - he rubs his cheek against Will’s a little too hard. It’s damp.

It gives Will the impetus to rock back, just a little. He doesn’t miss the way Hannibal’s fingers press on his shoulders, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, before dropping away entirely. Hannibal’s eyes are wet - he looks lost, almost, eyes scouring Will’s face when there’s enough room to do so.

He’s stepped forward without really planning to. He wasn’t planning to lean forward and brush his mouth against Hannibal’s, either, but there you have it. And now there are signs of life, Hannibal’s hands clenching on his biceps and then dropping them as if burned. Will reels him in and Hannibal’s burrowing against Will’s neck. There’s shaking, now, and the hot wet of tears. Instinct has done him well enough so far, so he gives in the impulse to stroke a slow hand up and down Hannibal’s back, up and down and up and down until the shaking’s stopping. Hannibal moves, just a little, nosing against Will’s neck and Will holds him and holds him and drops a kiss on top of his bent head. “This is nice,” he sighs again, and Hannibal’s hands slot home on his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> Argh, the struggle is REAL on my longer project. Instead of wrestling with angst and believability and a distinct lack of kissing in the kitchen, I just ran into the arms of shameless, id-driven fluff as a reset. Hope you enjoyed as much as I did!


End file.
